What, Like It’s Hard?

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Living with cancer as an adult feels like navigating through a maze of challenges you never imagined you’d face, all while trying to keep everything together—your family, your career, your mental health, and your hope. Cancer, especially something as aggressive as stage 3 triple negative breast cancer, is a game changer. It’s a harsh reminder that no matter how much you plan, life has its own set of rules. There’s a sharp contrast between the life I imagined—independent, self-sufficient, and in control—and the reality of living with cancer, constantly adjusting, recalibrating, and leaning on others.

At 32, I thought I had it figured out. My husband and I were high school sweethearts, living our own version of the American Dream—until it all came crashing down. We had already gone through so much: two babies born in the NICU, my own battle with endometriosis, and the weight of financial struggles. We didn’t buy a house when we thought we could; we rented. And then, cancer showed up in a way that I could never have prepared for.

The emotional rollercoaster is real. One moment, I’m thinking about the future with my husband and kids, making plans for homeownership, vacations, and life goals. The next moment, I’m grappling with chemotherapy, treatments, and hospital visits while my toddlers have runny noses and fevers because it’s winter. It’s hard to keep your focus on the big picture when you’re physically drained from treatment, emotionally drained from stress, and mentally trying to just survive the day.

We made the decision to move in with my parents. On one hand, it was a relief, and on the other, it felt like a humbling step backward. Four adults, two kids under four, and a cat—plus cancer. My parents were willing to help, but the reality was complicated. My husband and I, who had envisioned starting our own home, now had to find ways to make our relationship work while living in a shared space. How do you maintain intimacy when your kids are in your bed, and your parents’ room is just down the hall? How do you feel like a grown-up when you’re suddenly dependent on your parents in ways you never expected? The clutter of emotions, responsibilities, and the logistical challenges of living under one roof are overwhelming, to say the least.

Friendships also shifted. People were scared to come around—not just because of the diagnosis but because it was like everyone else had their own lives going on. The reality of cancer is isolating, even though you’re surrounded by people. Everyone is trying to avoid your germs, and you’re trying to avoid their pity. And then, of course, there’s the physical reality: dealing with side effects from treatment, managing doctor appointments, and trying to make it through each day with as much energy as possible.

There’s also a mental game happening. I know I need to give myself grace, to take breaks, but that’s a lot easier said than done. My husband and I often have to check in with each other. How do we balance our roles as parents, partners, and caretakers, all while keeping a sense of normalcy? How do we keep our kids, especially Pepper, from feeling overwhelmed by all the changes? It’s a delicate dance of managing their needs, my health, and still trying to preserve the love and connection we’ve built over the years.

Adjustments are constant. I’ve learned to ask for help. I’ve learned to prioritize my mental health, even if that means taking a step back from the usual demands of parenting. I’ve leaned on my family and my community more than I ever thought I would. I’ve adjusted my expectations for myself, learning that sometimes the smallest victories—getting through a treatment or managing a tantrum from my toddler—are enough. I’ve also had to redefine my relationship with control. I can’t control the cancer, the medical bills, or how long I’ll need to rely on others. But I can control how I show up for my family and myself each day.

Living with cancer is constantly navigating the unknown and adjusting to new realities, but through it all, there are moments of clarity, too. The love I have for my husband, my kids, and my family is the anchor that holds me steady, even on the days when everything else feels chaotic. As challenging as this chapter is, I’m learning that it’s not just about surviving—it’s about finding ways to still live, love, and hope, even when life throws a curveball.